JESSICA'S STORY
Though it had seemed as a lifetime to impatient Jessica that she had
been kept in the cave, after Pedro's arrival there, in reality it was
less than an hour; and it was yet early in the day when a cry she had
expected never to hear again, rang through the room where Gabriella
Trent was lying.
"Mother! My mother! Where are you?"
Another instant, and they were clasped in close embrace as if nothing
should ever separate them again. Words were impossible, at first, and
not till she saw that even joy was dangerous for her overwrought
patient did Aunt Sally, the nurse, interpose and bodily lift the
daughter from the parent's arms. All at once her own calmness and
courage forsook good Mrs. Benton, and now that she saw the lost girl
restored, visibly present in the flesh, anger possessed her till she
longed to shake, rather than caress, the little captain.
"Well, Jessica Trent! These are pretty goings on, now ain't they?"
Gabriella sat up and her child nestled against her, their hands
clasped and their eyes greedily fixed upon each other's countenance.
The unexpected brusqueness of the question was a relief to their high
tension, and Jessica laughed, almost hysterically, as she answered:
"They didn't seem very 'pretty' to me, Aunt Sally."
"What a sight you be! Where you been?"
"In the canyon cave."
"Didn't know there was one."
"Nor I--before."
"What for? What made you stay? Didn't you know you'd raised the whole
countryside to hunt for you? Don't believe there's an able-bodied man
left on a single ranch within fifty miles; all off huntin' for you.
You--you ought to be spanked!"
"Mrs. Benton!" warned Gabriella, in a tone of such distress that the
reproved one promptly sank in a capacious heap on the floor and fell
to weeping with the same vigor that she applied to all things.
Jessica, too, began to cry softly, at intervals, with such shuddering
bursts of sobs, that the mother's tears, also, were soon dimming the
eyes to which they had been denied during all the past anxiety.
However, this simultaneous downpour was infinite relief to all; and
presently the mother rose and with the strength happiness gave to her
slight figure, carried her child away to rest.
"You are safe. You are here. I see that you have suffered no hurt, and
bed is the place for you. When you have slept and rested you must tell
us all. Oh! my darling! Many hearts have ached for you, and I thought
my own was broken. But, thank God! thank God!"
Aunt Sally followed them, and, as if she had been a new-born baby, the
two women washed and made ready for a long sleep the precious child
that had been given back to them from the grave. Then the mother sat
down to watch while Aunt Sally hurried to ring the ancient mission
bell, whose harsh clanging had been agreed upon among the searchers as
the signal of good news.
They all came flocking back, singly or in groups, from wherever the
summons, which could be heard for miles in that clear air, chanced to
find them. Impatience was natural enough, too, on their part, since to
their eager questions Mrs. Benton could not give answer beyond the
simple statement:
"Yes, she's back, safe and sound. Says she's been in a cave, though
where it is or whether she's just flighty in her head, land knows.
She's sleepin' now, and it won't be healthy for any you lumberin' men
to be makin' a noise round the house before she wakes up, of her own
accord."
Nor when Pedro and the subdued dwarf came slowly over the road would
they make any further explanation. Indeed, they were both utterly
silent; the Indian forcing his captive before him into the deserted
office where he intrenched himself, with his basket and staff, until
such time as it should be his mistress' pleasure to receive him.
Thus, with time on her hands and nothing else to do, Aunt Sally
collared Wun Lung and withdrew to her kitchen, whence, presently,
there arose such various and appetizing odors that the weary ranchmen
scented a feast, and sought repose for themselves till it was ready.
Samson and John, however, were called upon for aid, and, whereas they
were ordered to "dress six of the plumpest fowl in the hennery," they
brought a dozen, and for "one likely shoat," they made ready two. Nor,
when they were upbraided for wastefulness, were they a whit abashed,
but John demanded, with unfilial directness:
"Why, mother, what's got your common sense? Tisn't only our own folks
you're cookin' for, but fifty others, more or less. Do you s'pose
Cassius Trent would skimp victuals on such a day as this? My advice
to you is: Put on all the pork and bacon you've got, to bile; and
roast the lamb that was butchered for our mess; and set to bakin'
biscuit by the cartload, and----"
"John Benton, hold your tongue, or I'll----"
"No, you won't, mother! I've outgrown spankin' though I'd be most
willin' to submit if 'twould be any relief to your feelin's, or mine
either. I tell you this here's the greatest day ever shone on Sobrante
Ranch, not barrin' even the one when the 'captain' came home with the
title in her hand."
"You misguided boy, don't I know it? Ain't I clean druv out my wits
a-thinkin' ever'thing over, and where in the name of natur' am I goin'
to do it all, with them horrid gasoline stoves no bigger'n an old
maid's thimble, and Pasqually gone off s'archin' with the rest, and
no'count the heft of the time and my sins!"
"Had to take breath, or bust, hadn't you?" cried her disrespectful
son, catching the portly matron about the spot where her waist should
have been and hilariously whirling her about in a waltz which his own
lameness rendered the more grotesque. "And where can you cook 'em?
Why, right square in them old ovens at the mission. Full now of
saddles and truck, but Samson and me'll clear 'em out lively. I'll
make you a fire in 'em, and they'll see cookin' like they haven't
since the padres put out their own last fires. They weren't any fools,
them fellers. They knew a good thing when they saw it, and if they
tackled a job they did it square. The ovens they built, just out of
baked mud and a few stones, are as tight to-day as they were a hundred
years ago; and, whew! won't old Pedro, that found her, relish his meat
cooked in 'em?"
Nor was Benton to be outdone in suggestion on the matter of providing.
Some of the searchers had brought back a quantity of game, with which
the country teemed, and which it had delayed them but little to shoot.
This was levied upon without ado, and in the preparation of the great
feast Aunt Sally's helpers forgot their fatigue, and were as deftly
efficient as women would have been.
Indeed, between sleep and labor, the hours of Jessica's unbroken rest
passed quickly, after all; and the good news having spread almost as
swiftly as the ill, the grounds were full of people when, at last, she
awoke. But, even yet, Mrs. Trent's consideration for others refused a
prior or full hearing of the story to which her faithful helpers had
as good a right as she, if not as intense an interest in it. She made
the child eat and drink, and went with her to her favorite rostrum
when addressing her "company" of soldierly "boys"--the horse block.
Here the girl stood up and told her simple tale.
"You see, dear folks, it was just this way: Aunt Sally and I were on
the porch, and we found Elsa's ring, all crooked. We couldn't guess
how it came there, and I'd just been made pretty angry about the way
you felt toward 'Forty-niner.' Oh! it was dreadful, dreadful of you
all, and I never was so ashamed of my 'boys,' not in all my life."
"Go on with the story, captain. Never mind us," cried somebody.
"And a little way farther I found a piece of Elsa's knitted bag. That
made me think a lot. Then the tackers came, all paint, and with Mr.
Hale's horse, that had been on the mesa ever since he was here. That
made me think some more, and I told auntie if she wouldn't scold the
little ones I'd try to find their clothes. I didn't find them, though,
Aunt Sally."
"Go on! Go on! What next?" demanded an impatient listener.
"Then I saw Ferd. Oh, mother! If I tell I'm afraid they'll hurt him."
"He shall be protected, daughter, and you must tell," said the mother,
though she now shrank from the hearing.
"I asked him about the horse and the children, and he said 'yes,' he
had fixed them. He had driven Prince down from the mesa, when Pedro
didn't see him, and had 'showed that old carpenter' something to pay
for kicks and hard words. He knew something I'd like to know. So I
asked him what, and he said it was Elsa's money. But if I didn't go
with him without saying anything to anybody he wouldn't tell me how to
find it. I begged to tell my mother, but he said her least of all. It
wouldn't take long, only a few rods up the canyon; so, of course, I
went. I thought I should be back long before dinner-time, and that
mother would tell me to do anything which would clear old Ephraim's
name from your cruel suspicions. And, oh, boys! You were wrong, you
were wrong! He never took a cent that wasn't his own, and Elsa's money
is found!"
Absolute silence followed this announcement, then Samson's great voice
started the wild "Hurrahs" which made the wide valley ring. The cheers
were long and lusty, but when they subsided at last, Mrs. Trent bade
her daughter finish the tale.
"It wasn't a little, but a long way up the canyon; yet I was so eager
to right Ephraim's wrong that I didn't feel afraid, though I never
have liked Ferd. He can't help being queer, maybe, with his queer body
to keep his half mind in----"
The hisses that interrupted her were almost as loud as the cheers had
been, and it would have fared ill with the dwarf had he at that moment
been visible. Fortunately, he was still under the surveillance of the
grim shepherd, in the locked office, and the majority of those present
were ignorant of his whereabouts.
"Quit hindering the captain. Her story is what we want!" cried
"Marty." "The dwarf can wait."
"So we went on and on, and into a strange, dark tunnel, that scared me
a little, yet made me more curious than ever to see the end of it all.
The tunnel led to a cave, and in the cave there was a deep hole; and
before I knew what he was doing, Ferd had slung a lariat about me and
dropped me into it."
Again an interruption of groans and howls, that were promptly
suppressed by a wave of the mistress' white hand; then Jessica
continued:
"As soon as he had put me there, he told me he would keep me till my
mother paid him great money to let me up. Yet he wouldn't even go to
her and ask for it. He said I must promise, and that she would do
anything I said. He told about a boy in 'Frisco, he'd heard the men
say, was taken from his folks and kept till they paid lots for his
release--even thousands of dollars! Antonio had taught him that money
was the best thing to have. He believed it. He took it whenever he
could find it. That's what made him take Elsa's, and blame it upon
Ephraim. And I wouldn't promise. How could I? My dear has no money to
give wicked men, and I knew the dear God would take me back to her
when He saw fit. As He did, indeed. For it must have been He who put
it into Pedro's heart to seek the cave just when I needed him most.
Only the Lord could see through all that darkness and lead the
shepherd by that crooked way."
She paused, and, turning to her mother, laid her sunny head upon the
shoulder that was shaken by such sobs as moved her faithful ranchmen
to thoughts of deep revenge. Eyes that had not wept for years grew
dim, and out of that circle of listening men rose a low and ominous
sound. Some, remembering their own idle talk of kidnaping and the
like, shuddered at the practical application the dwarf's dim mind had
made of their words; and various plans for punishment were forming
when the captain clapped her hands for fresh attention.
"Hear me, 'boys.'Do you belong to me?"
"Ay, ay! Heart and soul!"
"Then you must mind me. You must let Ferd alone. You must do even more
to please me--and teach him to be good, not bad."
None answered these clear, commanding sentences, which, as the
strangers present thought, came so oddly from such childish lips, and
they wondered at the effect produced upon the Sobrante men. These
glanced at one another in doubt, each questioning the decision of his
neighbor; and then again at the lovely girl who had never before
seemed so wholly angelic.
"Will you do this?"
"Hold on, little one. Let the 'admiral' speak. Has she forgiven that
human coyote?"
The unexpected question startled Mrs. Trent. She was a strictly
truthful woman, and found her answer difficult. She had never liked
the wretched creature who had just brought such misery to her, and she
now loathed him. She had already resolved that, while she would
protect Ferd from personal injury, she would see to it that he was put
where he could never again injure her or hers. Her momentary
hesitation told. The whole assemblage waited for her next word amid a
silence that could be felt, when, suddenly, there burst upon that
silence a series of ear-splitting shrieks which effectually diverted
attention from the perplexed ranch mistress.